Making Noise and Making Pleas
by sallonesque
Summary: So many RENTfics deal with the group losing Mimi. What if they had to lose a different friend? PG13 mostly for sad stuff and Roger's lack of control of his potty mouth. RENTfic. Obviously some slash. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this fic yet.
1. I didn't really dislike her

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah. Blah blah blaaaah. I don't own these characters. You knew this.

Notes: Okay. Lots of people to thank here. First of all.. Christie. Sooo many of the ideas I use in my stories have a lot to do with the stuff we talk about. I owe my inspiration to our five hour talks about Mark and Roger's little quirks and such. Also thank you to my darling, loving wusband and fellow Queen of Angst the-fraulein (readherstories!) without whom I wouldn't have (readherstories!!) gotten my (readherstories!!!) arse moving and written (readherstories!!!!) this. And last but most definitely not least, thank you SO SO SO much to anyone and everyone who read and reviewed my first story. I love you all so very very much. And now.. onward to the story!

P.S.-- Read and review and I will love you forever and ever.

* * *

I just clung to Collins like the world was ending. For me it was. My whole world was dying and it was slowly killing me from the inside.

I spent months taking care of him. Months of my life that I gave up to sit by his side and watch him deteriorate. Hearing his feeble little voice thanking me for taking such good care of him. Thanking me for staying around and not leaving him. It was me. I was the one who forced his medicine down his throat all those days that he was raging around the apartment. I was the one who had to hold him when he finally broke down and realized what all of the doctors had been telling him for months. I had to force down everything and be strong for him. Stoic. I was never much good at stoicism. That was always him. But I did it. And I had been planning on telling him ever since it took a turn for the worst. I really had. But then I thought of how much harder it would have been for him to let go. How much harder it would have been for _me_ to _let_ him go.

I told Collins, though. And Collins understood. He understood everything. He understood why my legs had given out when he told me to leave and let them be alone together. And why I sobbed so hard into his shoulder that I could hardly breathe. Why I could hardly breathe in the first place. And why I didn't say anything now.

I had given up everything for him and to him, and now all he wanted was for me to leave and let them be alone together. His exact words. He knew he was getting ready to go. We all knew it.

She didn't.

She had gone away so she wouldn't have to see it. He made me go find her. Imagine the look of shock on her pretty little face when I showed up at her new boyfriend's house looking for her. She wasn't very nice either. Until I told her about him. When I told her, she started crying. Why was she allowed to cry? Probably because she was a girl. It's okay for girls to cry.

I took her to him and started to sit down. He told me to leave. I knew he was holding out to see her. I didn't really dislike her, but at that moment I couldn't help but hate her.


	2. I'm not dragging him into this

Disclaimer in chapter 1. Too lazy to repost it here. 

Notes: I really don't know where I'm going with this. So you know.

* * *

The feeble, tired sounding cough coming from behind Roger's closed door made me wince and curl closer to Collins who just stroked my hair. He has this way of making you feel like nothing's wrong, even at times like this. And even if it only lasts a second. We could hear Mimi consoling Roger in a low voice. Gentle. Not at all like the voice she used the night she left.

"_No_, Roger. I'm sick of hearing it. Just because _you_ want to sit around and wait to die doesn't mean _I'm_ going to!"

"Fuck you."

"That's not gonna work, Rog. It's not good enough." Apparently she had heard an apology and not Roger's usual stand-offish tone. He only used it when he knew he was wrong but was too proud to admit it. "This is fucking stupid. I can't even go out for one fucking night without you throwing a goddamn hissy fit because I'm not here sulking with you. And because I don't let you run around feeling sorry for yourself like your _wife _does." She shot me a malevolent glare like this was somehow my fault. I make excuses for him sometimes, sure, but that doesn't make this _my_ fault.

"Don't drag him into this. This is between you and me, Mimi."

"I'm not dragging him into this. He's been in it."

What the hell? All I had been doing was sitting in my own damn room, playing with my damn camera and staying the hell out of the line of fire. But I should have known that it didn't matter how much I tried to avoid it, I was always brought up in their arguments. I'm pretty sure everyone knew why but Roger. And if he did know, he certainly didn't seem to.

"Fuck you, man. It's not his fault you're a cheating bitch. It's not mine either. And it's not my fault that you can't fucking stop putting shit in your veins long enough to notice that—"He stopped talking and went into another coughing fit. I started to get up to try to help, but thought better of it and just sighed instead. She didn't even do anything. She used his break in talking to jump in with another counter attack. Bitch. I hated that he let her get him so worked up. Especially now that he was starting to get sick.

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to you tell me how to live my life. At least _I_ live mine. I'm out of here. And I'm not fucking coming back, either."

I heard the door slam and I was going to just sit there and wait for Roger to calm down. But he was still coughing. Shit. I peeked around the corner before I went out all the way just to be safe, though.

"Rog?"

"Leave me alone, Mark."

More coughing.

"Are you okay? Do you need some water or something?"

"If I fucking needed something, I would get it _myself_. Leave me the fuck _alone_, Mark!" He wiped the corner of his mouth and then wiped it on his pants. I knew he hoped I hadn't seen the blood I'd seen. I didn't say anything for a moment.

"If you do need something, please come get me? I'll leave my door open."

Why did I always have to plead with him to take care of himself?

"Just go away."

He sounded so tired. He looked it too. I didn't want to go away. Too many people in his life had 'just gone away'. I didn't want to be one of them. I _refused_ to be one of them. I did, however, do as he asked and slunk off to my room.

For a long time he didn't move. I could just see his legs hanging over our couch -- _the _couch. Whatever. I could see a little bit of his legs from where I was sitting on my bed and he just sat there for a long time. I don't think he moved until it dawned on him that Mimi had just left him, probably for good, and when he did move, he stormed into his room and slammed the door. I still jumped even though I knew it was coming. I'm deathly afraid of loud noises. I'll get into that later.


	3. Another one of our talks

Disclaimer: It's in the first chapter, biatches.

Notes: Readandrevieeeww because you love meee.

* * *

I looked up at Collins a little while later. I think I fell asleep on him for a while because my glasses were on the other side of him, but I had awoken with a start. I opened my mouth to say something, probably to ask him if Mimi had left yet, but he just shook his head and put a finger to my lips. I'm not sure why, but my heart stopped beating for a moment. I was filled with such a sense of dread all of a sudden. Anxiety set in fast and I reached over him, grabbed my glasses and was already halfway to Roger's room by the time I was shoving my glasses onto my face. I opened the door slowly just in case he was sleeping and Collins was behind me with his hand on my shoulder.

"Mark, don't."

His tone was soft. Pitying almost.

I looked inside anyway.

I wished I hadn't because what I saw made my insides freeze and my head spin in the most unpleasant way.

Mimi was sitting on the floor beside Roger's bed holding his hand and crying into her knees. She looked up when she heard me. The black streaks down her face made her look like a tiger or some other wild cat, but I wasn't thinking about that. She looked at me in a way that she never had before. It was apologetic and practically pitying. Why was everyone looking at me like that?

I looked back at her. "How's he holding up?" My voice cracked and I cleared it of the lump I felt forming.

Her expression changed and Collins's hand tightened on my shoulder.

I was expecting her to at least have the decency to tell me herself but, of course, she didn't. It was Collins who spoke at her silence.

"He's not, Mark."

"He's dead, baby."

But of course they were kidding. Roger couldn't be dead. That's just stupid. He hadn't asked for me. He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. He promised me after the last time he did that he would never leave me again without telling me where he was going or at least saying goodbye first. I shook my head. They just didn't know.

Two months prior...

"Roger, I l—"

"I know."

He didn't understand. I wanted to tell him so bad. That was all I'd ever wanted. I loved him so much. But he never let me say it. Maybe he just would have felt bad that he couldn't say it back. I would have understood, though. I think he thought it would make things too complicated or something. I thought that was just stupid. I mean, it would probably make things less complicated. For me anyway. I also think he thought that saying it jinxed things. But that was just Roger. He only knew how to express hurtful things. Annoyance, anger, rage, but even worse, he was mostly just apathetic toward things. I can't tell you how many tears I've shed over his indifference toward everything. That's one thing I will always thank Mimi for. She got him to live. She used to drag him out all the time. Well, in the beginning she did. In the beginning she had this strange power over him. She said, "Roger, you're taking me out tonight." And he did. Towards the end, she'd tell her to fuck off when she said stuff like that. She thought he just wanted to sulk, but I knew he was sick. He just didn't want everyone to know.

I leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek before snuggling back down with my head on his chest. He stroked my hair and played with the collar of my shirt. God, I loved it when he did stuff like that. He even kissed the top of my head. He could have told me he hated me right then and I still would have been the happiest man alive. Besides, I could always tell him that I loved him after he fell asleep.

I told him a lot of things when he was sleeping. It was almost like talking to him when he was awake. Mostly because he was almost always sleeping since he got really sick and when he never really talked back too much when he was awake.

It wasn't too much longer until his deep, even breathing told me his was sleeping again. Oh good. Time for another one of our talks.

"I know you'd never let me tell our friends about us, Rog, but I want you to know that I love you anyway."

He stirred a little so I lowered my voice.

"I told Angel a long time ago. Last Valentine's Day, actually. It was right when he first started getting sick. I told him how in love with you I had always been. She gave me that sort of knowing smile; you know how Angel's smiles were. I'm pretty sure she— he knew everything. Like he was the one who had planned it in the first place or something. I remember telling him how I knew you'd never let it happen, even if there was no Mimi and he told me to tell you anyway and not wait until it was too late. And I try to. I don't want it to be too late before I tell you. But every time I try, you won't let me. Why won't you let me tell you that I love you, Rog? Everyone knows. I know you do too, because that's what you tell me every time I try."

I sighed and curled up again. "I'm sorry I'm not Mimi. I love you."

That was when Roger stirred again and mumbled something in his adorably groggy still-sleeping-voice that sounded suspiciously like "Love you too."


	4. Roger doesn't mind

Disclaimer is still in the first chapter. No, I will not repost it. I think you are very much aware that I still do not own this stuff.

AN: Blah blah... More love to the-fraulein (yes, I'm still pimpin' her godly stories -pimp, pimp, pimp- READ THEM, BIATCHES.)

I love you all so very much for even considering reading this piece of crap. Thanks bunches. I'm away for school right now and pretty much will only get to update this on the weekends I come home because the computer where I am is CRAP. If you need to email me directly, the only mail I am able to get while I'm there is on yahoo so you can email me at if you need/want to. Pleasepleasepleeeease read and review this. If I don't think there's interest, I really won't bother. And I really do care about your opinions on this (no matter how much I protest otherwise).

Thanks again!

* * *

To tell you the truth, I honestly didn't believe them at first. I thought it had to be some kind of cruel joke. It just had to be. He had been waiting to die ever since he was diagnosed. We'd just got him to start living again and now he was dead? It was cruel and unjust. 

I don't even remember pushing Mimi out of the way or even running toward Roger. I guess she had come at me and tried to hug me. Tried to cling to me and let me be her strength and all that bullshit. She had moved on with her life already. She had a new boyfriend and they were happy together and she didn't need Roger anymore. My world was just shattered by this and she wants _me_ to be strong for _her_?! I do remember holding him though. I remember rocking back and forth, running my fingers through his hair and kissing him face. Crying on him and pleading with him to just wake up, please! But he didn't listen to me. He never listened to me. It didn't matter that I knew what was best for him. He never listened.

Mimi ended up leaving and Collins told me that I needed to get some sleep. So I curled up right there and wrapped his arms around me and started to close my eyes. Collins gave me another sad look, shook his head and led me to my own room. I followed quietly about halfway across the apartment before I tore back into his room and curled up with him again.

"Marky..."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT."

I don't remember ever yelling so loud. But Collins should know better. Nobody's allowed to call me that. Only him.

I think I hurt his feelings though. I didn't mean to. And I'm usually not ever disagreeable and even if someone does something I don't like, I won't snap like that.

"Sorry..."

"Only he can call me that and he can't right now because he's sleeping."

I curl up with Roger again, snuggled as close as I can. He's so cold that I wonder why he's not shivering. He gets cold easily especially since he's been sick, but he usually gets the shakes pretty bad.

"Mark, look at me. Roger's dead, hon. He isn't coming back and he's not just sleeping. You need to get out of bed with him."

"Oh, but you don't understand, Collins. Roger doesn't mind." I'm whispering. I don't want him to wake up, after all. "I mean... he would if he knew you were here, but he doesn't. So it's fine."

"Mark. I'm being serious. Get out of bed or I'm going to make you."

"But Collins, he—"

He didn't even give me the chance to finish before he dragged me out of the bed and into my room. I think that's when it hit me.

"ROGER!"

Collins wrapped his arms around me and had to practically pin me to the bed to keep me from running back into Roger's room. I curled up into the tiniest ball I could manage and hoped to disappear. Then I cried until I felt like throwing up. Then I kept crying until I actually did. Then I screamed myself hoarse. Then I thought.

I thought about everything.

How much I loved him, the good times we had, the bad times, the worse times. The times we made love and the times we yelled at each other. Everything.

At first it was mostly a blur. Little snatches of memories here and there. Bits and pieces of conversations. I wanted so badly to remember the actual circumstances.

-Some months before-

Then things started to separate a bit more and I saw vivid scenes of passion, entire conversations, and whole situations; all in great detail. I almost wished for the blurred and nonspecific version.

The sound of Roger's laughter is the most beautiful thing in the whole world. Nothing can compare. It's so sincere. Always sincere. Roger would never fake a laugh. He would never fake anything. So to hear him laugh again after so many months of depression is glorious.

"No! You throw it like _this_!"

He throws it and it lands somewhere on the black field outside the actual playing area.

He was attempting to teach me how to play darts with our magnetic dart board. I think he's had it since high school.

I try again and it hits the wall.

"You're not throwing it hard enough. Like _this_!"

He throws it again and nearly makes a bull's-eye.

I try again and fail miserable. It doesn't even make it to the wall.

"You throw like a girl, Marky. God."

He laughs again and grabs my arm. He puts the magnetic dart in my hand and stands behind me. I figure there could probably be a little more distance between us and he could still prove his point, but I don't mind in the least. With one quick jerk he heaves my arm forward (much harder than I would have) and ends up hurling the dart toward the board. It still misses the board, but it hits the wall near it.

"There, now just aim your next one. Throw it that hard, but aim it at the board better."

I try yet again and much to my surprise I don't hear the unpleasant crack of plastic hitting the wall loudly. I look up and my yellow dart has stuck to the black felt.


	5. Drowned in reminiscence

Disclaimer: I still don't own these characters.

Notes: This chapter's kinda short. A lot of these are just going to be flashback sequences and stuff because I have a lot of incidents in their past figured out.

* * *

For the next few days I couldn't do anything. I couldn't eat, I especially couldn't sleep, and I could barely move. I heard the bustle of people the next day taking Roger away. Collins was out there talking to them and Maureen was sitting on my bed with her arms around me. I couldn't even feel her. I was so cold without Roger. My Roger. I drowned in reminiscence.

IIIII

It took me back to Roger's 21st birthday. God, that was an awful night.

We had all been out partying, me, Roger, Maureen and Collins. Even Benny had showed up for a little while. That was when the Dynamic Duo and the Terrible Twosome were dating. Yup, Maureen and I and Roger and April. Maureen thought it up. The best girl friends that dated the best guy friends. She referred to Roger and I as the Terrible Twosome because of all the trouble we caused in high school. Well, trouble _he_ caused that I talked us out of is more like. She and April were the Dynamic Duo because, well, they were. They were dynamic all right.

Maureen and April were practically opposite. For the most part, Maureen was clean cut. Sure, she drank, but she drank the way college girls do. To get drunk and get laid. April, on the other hand was your general fuck up. She drank and did drugs for the sole purpose of getting as fucked up as she could. Maureen had a positive outlook on life and wanted to change things. April was a cynical bitch.

Anyway. April wasn't home when we got ready to leave for the night so Roger decided to go without her. We went out, partied, got a little drunk, well.. _I _got a little drunk. Everyone else was smashed into oblivion. Roger was higher than a kite, but still coherent enough to be thoroughly enjoying his birthday. We went to the Life and loitered for about an hour and then came home. I think we were all expecting April to be sitting on Roger's bed naked with a can of Happy Birthday whipped cream and a needle full of Happy Birthday heroin. I think we were also expecting to have to plug our ears and pretend not to hear their all-night-Happy-Birthday-fuck-fest.

Nothing could have prepared us for the eerie silence we boisterously intruded on. Roger stumbled into the bathroom to 'take a piss' as he said. Maureen, Collins and I were sitting in the living room recapping the evening's events, including the incident with the waiter at the Life that Roger had so generously grabbed and kissed because it was his birthday and he could, dammit that had gotten us thrown out.

We heard him screaming at April and at first there was a shared bunch of sighs and knowing looks, but it was what he was screaming that caused alarm.

"What did you do to yourself?! April, wake up! WAKE UP!"

The way our bathroom is set up, if you don't open the door all the way, you can't see the mirror and if you cut straight in at that angle, the first thing you see is the bathtub. I pushed open the door and the first thing I saw was the mirror.

I turned around and walked right back out again, face pale with a blank expression. Collins gave me a questioning look and when I tried to answer but couldn't, he hurried inside and sat with Roger. I didn't see what happened, but I knew Collins would handle it. He was good at stuff like that.

I remember collapsing into Maureen's arms and her just holding me and rocking me and kissing my hair and telling me that it would be alright. But they didn't know what I knew. I was the only one who'd seen it so far. They'd all know soon enough, but for now I bore the weight of knowledge alone.

In blackish red lipstick that cruelly mocked the colour of the inside of the bathtub, three words had stared back at me; had obscured my reflection just as they would come to obscure the rest of my life.

We've got AIDS.


	6. To think of the movies

Disclaimer: La la laaa.. still not owning any of these guys.

Notes: I really like this chapter. I think it's cute. ;; Cute like chibis and bunnies and other really cute things. Buuut in the theme of all I do, it's still sad and still slashy. Obviously, if you have a problem with this, you oughtn't to be reading it. Also, in my other thing.. my email apparently didn't show up because my computer hates me. If you want to email me directly, please please please! feel free to do so, but my AOL is down so I'm working out of yahoo. My yahoo mail is inangstasy. Hawt name, I know.

Thank you to all my reviewers! I love you guys so very much. Another thank you to my dearest, darlingest fraulein for being the wonderful little bundle of slashy angst that she is. And to all you phantom readers: I love you guys too.. but I'd love you even more if you'd revieeeew...

And to that certain person who I know is wondering: you're off the team because you said some hurtful and VERY uncalled for things about a certain blonde that I love very very dearly and I will NOT EVER tolerate that. She and my loyalty to her come first. End of matter.

Anyway! Onto the goods...

* * *

After about two weeks, I finally started sleeping again. It was only in short spurts but it was enough to get by on. Get by for what? To sit on my bed with my arms around myself crying and moping? Sounds worth it, I know.

I was glad of the fact that I was only able to sleep for small amounts of time. My dreams were horribly vivid and too sad to endure most nights. I remember one night I dreamt that I was kissing Roger in front of the Life and we were holding hands and laughing. It was snowing lightly and we were cold so we just stood there with our arms around each other. It was a beautiful scene and it made me happy...

Until the windows of the Life Café turned into a mirror and I saw our reflections behind the red writing. I looked to my left and then to my right quickly only to find that we were in our bathroom and Roger was lying in a bathtub full of blood. I fled the bathroom into the sanctuary of my bedroom and sat on my bed, rocking back and forth and crying until I heard Musetta's Waltz coming from Roger's room. I rushed in only to find that it wasn't his guitar playing it but an old radio. Sitting with the radio in his lap held like a guitar was Roger. I started to cry and rushed over to hold him, but he evaporated in my arms.

I woke up clutching my pillow and screaming to Maureen's rough shaking.

"Mark? Marky, are you okay, baby?"

I grope blindly at her without my glasses and cling to her with all my might. I try to tell her about the dream, but it just doesn't come out right. I'm crying too hard. But besides that, I don't really want to talk about it. It's already starting to leave me. Good.

After that particular dream is when I started taking Nyquil every night, I think. It knocked me right out and I rarely had dreams; especially not upsetting ones. Part of me wanted to have dreams about Roger and I considered stopping the Nyquil. It was the only way I could see him again. There were no pictures of him lying around. Roger hated pictures with a passion. I thought about it for a really long time before I remembered the film reels. I thought it odd how it took my so long to think of the movies. Funny how something consumes your life one day and the next it's completely forgotten.

I asked Collins to come in and sit with me to watch them. I didn't want to be alone.

The first ones we watched were of the year we had Angel. Images of Collins and Angel looking very happy were everywhere. Outside the Life, at the loft, in the park; no matter where they were they always looked so sublimely happy in each other's company. I had caught a beautiful kiss on camera. It was on Valentine's Day and the snow was getting ready to melt. There were hearts everywhere and Angel was wearing a small pink velvet dress. It was really very pretty. She had flowers in her hair and even put some in Collins's dreads and they were outside a small restaurant. The way they looked at each other right before they kissed was so beautiful and romantic. Angel wrapped her arms around Collins's neck and kicked her heel up when they kissed. It reminded me of a 50's film.

After those first couple shots of Valentine's Day, we decided to move on. After that was about the time Angel started to get sick and neither of us needed to see that.

I put in one of a couple years ago. I think it was right before Mimi left because in one shot she and Roger were all over each other in the peripheral view of the camera (I usually avoided filming them directly) and in the next shot on, she wasn't in it anymore and Roger spent more time behind me behind the camera than being filmed.

One particularly moving clip from this time period was on my birthday. Maureen had taking my camera hostage and was filming the scene so that I could 'participate for once'.

IIIII

"Pookie! Just give me the _camera_! I won't hurt it, I _promise_. _Pinky_ promise! It's your _birthday_! Get in front of the camera and participate in your life for once instead of just filming it!"

The camera is handed off grudgingly and an obviously disgruntled Mark reluctantly takes a seat at the table where his birthday cake is about to be served. A very nicely dressed but drastically thin Roger walked over to the ticked off camera man and plopped himself gracefully into his lap. The camera zoomed in on them via Maureen's strange closeness rather than the zoom button as Roger planted a big, sloppy kiss on Mark's cheek and ruffled his hair.

"_Roger_!" Mark flushed but grinned. "That's _gross_!"

"Gross my ass. You liked it." The musician wriggled rather suggestively, causing Mark to turn on Maureen. Perhaps she was more easily thwarted.

"Maureen! Get that thing out of my face! I'm not this bad with you guys."

There was a chorus of "Yes you are!" from everyone present that made Mark bush even brighter and avert his eyes.

The camera cut out not long after that and the next frame was Mark blowing out the candle on his cake and Roger, still planted in his lap and obviously not going anywhere soon, grabbing a small handful and smothering it onto Mark's face.

"Oh no you don't!" A retaliation was launched and Roger's chin and near his mouth was soon doused with frosting which he licked up in one swift motion.

"Mm... frosting. I want some more."

Mark's eyes widened visibly behind his glasses.

"Roger, no. No. Nononono!"

But it was too late. There was no saving him. No sooner than he had opened his mouth to protest, Roger's tongue was all over his face in the grossest manner. Mark winced as the coarse hair of his boyfriend, lover, best friend (which did he fall under in the presence of company again?) scraped his face. He shrieked and writhed and laughed but there was no hope.

When he was done, Roger licked his lips and gave a satisfied sigh. Mark wiped his face, a disdainful and disgusted expression on his face.

Roger poked Mark's side with a grin. "You know you liked it. It was totally hot. Sexy to boot."

"More like gross."

"Pft, more like totally sexy."

"More like get off my lap before I strangle you because it was so gross."

"Bring it on!"

"Well okay then."

Mark reached his hands up to make like he was going to strangle Roger, but Roger was faster. He pinned Mark's arms over his head and leaned in to kiss him. Or so it appeared. Out of nowhere Roger began fiercely tickling his camera man's sides. Yes, _his_ camera man. He tickled him until Mark toppled out of the chair and Roger, to everyone's great amusement, straddled him on the floor and continued to tickle him. Mark shook his head and tried to wriggle free, all the while protesting, but Roger would hear none of it.

"No! This is what you get for being a dick when all I was doing was being sexy. My hotness is no great cause for you too be a bitch and now you must suffer the consequences!"

IIIII

This little scene of fun was sure to spoil eventually, knowing Roger and I didn't want to see it go bad. I remembered that day now that I'd seen part of it. How Mimi had showed up and ruined everything for me. For us. It was the only time Roger had ever shown real affection toward me in front of everyone; flirted with me even, and she had to show up.

Roger had told her to leave and that he never wanted to see her again and reminded her of the night she left. She had refused to leave at first, but eventually Collins had talked her into going and Roger just stormed off into his room, slammed the door and played angry guitar riffs for the rest of the evening.

As usual, Maureen and Joanne were the next to clear out and Collins stayed awhile so I wouldn't have to be by myself. When Roger had finally emerged the following day, my camera was still sitting where Maureen had left it when Mimi showed up and there were even a few streamers about (Maureen had insisted on decorations). I knew he felt bad for ruining my birthday and to apologize for it, he had woken up for breakfast and sat next to me while we ate. Usually he'd take whatever he was going to eat and hide in his room, when he'd been a jerk he'd sit next to me to apologize. I understand Roger's language perfectly.

I curled up with Collins around me and just cried until my face hurt. My entire body was sore from crying. My emotional pain had become physical.


	7. These are the best of times

Disclaimer: Still not my characters. The song Best of Times is by Styx. The lyrics to that song are Dennis DeYoung's.

Notes: Reviiiiiew! Please? Pretty please? With sugar on top? Also! If you'd like me to write a story for you, I would be more than glad to. I'm forever in need of ideas, so uh.. drop me a line and let me know if you want me to write something for you.

* * *

It had been a stupid idea to watch the movies. I wasn't ready. Would I ever be? I didn't think I would be. Maybe it was a good thing that I'd seen them. Maybe not.

It's been about eight months since Roger passed away. Collins is living with a group of computer nerds near the City and Maureen and Joanne have moved away. Not too far away, but they're living in Upstate New York now. Joanne's got herself settled at a nice law firm and amazingly, she and Maureen have had a loving and monogamous relationship; even more amazingly, the monogamy has been on both ends. They are very happy and I'm happy for them. Collins and I have seen neither hide nor hair of Benny, which has been both a blessing and a curse. His insensitivity would not be appreciated at all, but his financial aid would be. Collins has gone back to tutoring and I have a part time job waiting tables at the Life. It gives me something to do during the day so I don't sit at home and get depressed.

One day near Halloween, Collins and I visited Angel's grave in memory of her death. It's been almost five years now since she passed. Collins let me read the letter that Angel left for him before she died while we were sitting in front of her headstone. We both had a good cry over it and I decided that maybe, just maybe, Roger had thought to do the same for me.

I had left Roger's room exactly as it had been. I knew he wouldn't have wanted me messing with his stuff. When I really miss him, I'll go in and sleep in his blanket or touch his guitar. But for the most part, it stayed exactly as he left it. I've been fine as far as rent because I think Benny heard about Roger somehow and for some reason took pity on me or something. Whatever the case, I haven't paid rent since Roger died and there have been no complaints.

The thought of Roger having left me a letter seemed stupid, so I let it go.

On the one year anniversary of his death, I told Collins that I wanted to be alone. He said he understood and respected that, but if I needed anything at all to please, please call him. I spent the whole day remembering. I refused to watch the movies because seeing him would be too much. A year later and the sight of him is still burned into the inside of my eyelids. I sat in his room and went through his things. The clothes I had insisted on keeping that still smelled like him, his tapes and CDs and especially his guitar. I even put on his favorite pair of pants. The plaid pants that he had practically lived in. I had wanted to bury him in them, but we didn't have the money to bury him and I didn't want them burned, so I kept them. I felt so weird having them on. They fit fine at the waist, but the back pockets hung a little too low on me and the legs were way too long. I didn't care. I picked a CD at random and played it on the CD player Collins had rigged for us years ago. The song that first came on made me bawl. I had been fine through everything else on this most fragile of days.. and one line made me lose it completely.

"Tonight's the night we'll make history, honey, you and I. And I'll take any risk to tie back the hands of time and stay with you here tonight."

I remember listening to this song with him a million times and hearing the story of his first concert. I can hear his voice telling me the story.

"When I was 15, my dad decided it was time to act like a father and take me to do something for my birthday. I was going through my classic rock phase (that was right before I really got into metal) and I was a _huge_ Styx fan. He picked me up at my mom's early in the morning and we went to this music festival. He didn't even tell me where we were going or that we were going to see Styx. A bunch of really shitty bands were playing and, of course, Styx were headlining so they went on last. I sat through hours of shitty, no name bands and I wanted to go home so bad.. but when their set came up. Oh my _God_, Marky, it was _orgasmic_! No one even announced them, it was just a foggy stage and a bunch of amp feedback and all of a sudden.. BAM! A burst of blue and silver glitter and they start playing Grand Illusion. I seriously thought I was gonna come in my pants. Don't look at me like that! It was _that_ good."

I pull myself from that thought and touch his guitar, running my fingers over the strings as gently as I can. I take it into my hands and try to remember. He taught me once. Remember. I beg my mind to remember the strings to pluck. I sink back into the memory that will teach me.

IIIII

There was the shattering of glass against the wall and a loud string of cursing. Mark cringes and ducks into his room. He knows Roger is still just pissed off at the world. He still isn't over the fact that he was diagnosed with AIDS, even though it was almost ten months ago. Mark just hides out and about an hour later, he gets up and goes into Roger's room.

"Hey, Rog? You okay?"

There is an apologetic look on Roger's face when he sees the damage he's done. There are still a few shards of glass scattered in Mark's pouffy hair his face is still red where bits of glass hit him. It never ceased to amaze Roger that no matter how badly he'd done Mark, Mark always still made sure he was alright first.

"I'm fine. C'mere, you've got glass in your hair."

Roger pats the mattress and scoots over for Mark. Mark takes a seat and Roger dusts the shards from his hair.

"You know.. I didn't mean t—"

"I know. It's alright, you don't have to say. I'm okay."

"Headache?"

"Yeah."

"Lay down."

Roger scoots to the middle of the bed and sits cross legged. He pats his lap and Mark lays his head in it and closes his eyes. Roger takes his glasses from him and strokes his hair as though Mark were his pet. In a way, he was. In his pleasant and surprisingly soft and clear voice, he begins to sing.

"Tonight's the night we'll make history, honey you and I. And I'll take any risk to tie back the hands of time and stay with you here tonight."

Mark sighs and a slow smile spreads across his face.

"I know you feel these are the worst of times, I do believe it's true. When people lock their doors and hide inside. Rumor has it it's the end of Paradise. But I know, if the world just passed us by, baby I know, you wouldn't have to cry, no, no. The best of times are when I'm alone with you. Some rain some shine, we'll make this a world for two. Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime. We'll take the best, forget the rest, and someday we'll find these are the best of times. These are the best of times."

Mark is content. This is his favorite song, he decides. This is Roger's song for him. It's the closest he'll ever get to an 'I love you.'

"The headlines read 'these are the worst of times', I do believe it's true. I feel so helpless like a boat against the tide. I wish the summer winds could bring back Paradise. But I know, if the world turned upside down, baby, I know you'd always be around, my, my."

Mark is just about to drift off into a nap when Roger apparently has an epiphany mid-song. He leans over and grabs his guitar. Mark sits up to avoid being hit.

"I wanna teach you something. C'mere, look."

Mark watches Roger pick out a few notes. Roger sits behind Mark on his knees and helps Mark maneuver the chords, teaching him which ones to pluck and where to move his finger. Mark feels honored. Roger never lets anyone touch his precious guitar. This is an apology.

After about forty-five minutes, Roger wants Mark to do it alone. Mark is nervous because all he's learned from this is that the closer top Roger in proximity he is, the more nervous he feels; especially with Roger breathing on his neck and sneaking little brushes against him. Extra especially with Roger holding his hands and helping him learn the strings. It is then that Mark confirms that he is, indeed, in love with his best friend.

Mark tries. Then he tries again. And again. All he manages are the first few feeble notes of Musetta's Waltz. Roger glows with pride. It is then that Roger discovers that he too is in love with his best friend.

"I'll have to teach you the rest later. That was really good."

IIIII

I stop crying because I'm no longer saddened by the song. It's almost over anyhow. I shed a few more tears, though, because he never finished teaching me Musetta's Waltz. I pick out the few notes that I learned and my heart aches.

_Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime. We'll take the best, forget the rest and someday we'll find these are the best of times._

And they really were.


	8. The One

Disclaimer: Still don't own them.

Notes: I know my updates on this thing are kind of sporadic.. but I really only write when I have nothing else to do that seems interesting or I have a project due that I'm postponing. I apologize for this and urge you all to keep reviewing my junk regardless of this fact. I also urge you to email my yahoo account (in my profile) and keep me entertained and inspired. I love you all! Thank you for reading my crap, it keeps me going.

* * *

IIIII

"Marky.. I need to ask you something."

"Sure, what is it, Rog?"

A very nervous looking Roger took a seat beside his best friend. He kept a fair distance between them and his fingertips traced his forearms like he always did when something was bothering him.

"Okay, well, what would you think if I told you that I finally found, well, The One. You know, that stupid person that I couldn't live without."

Mark quirked a brow.

"I would ask you if you were high, first of all."

He bit his lip and looked up quickly.

"You're not, are you?"

Roger sounded extremely offended and furrowed his brow.

"No!"

He threw his hands up, scoffing.

"Fuck it. I figured I could at least talk to _you_ about this without getting laughed at. I was being fucking serious. But forget it."

Roger started to leave but Mark, looking sincerely apologetic grabbed both of his wrists and pulled him back onto the couch.

"I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_! Come here, talk to me."

Mark had his hands on top of Roger's resting on the musician's knees. Roger showed even more distress when he pulled away from Mark and scooted even farther away than he had been before. Mark moved closer but kept his hands to himself.

"What's wrong?"

"You didn't answer my question. What would you say?"

"Er, congratulations, I guess. But do is she really The One? I mean.. that's a big position to fill in your case. They'd have to feed you, clean you, take you out to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Remind you to take your meds. It's a big job."

Roger shifted and mumbled.

"Well, you would know."

Ouch.

"Yes, I would. Not what it's like to be The One, but to do all those menial chores, yeah."

"Her name's Mimi."

All hope Mark had held onto all this time fell away from him in that instant. His content expression hitched for a moment, but he was able to keep it in place.

"That's a nice name."

"What's wrong?"

"_Nothing_."

"You don't have to get defensive, I was just asking."

"Why would anything be wrong?"

"Because you have the kicked puppy face and you said she has a nice name. A nice _name_, Mark. You didn't ask what she's like or what she looks like or even if she's got a nice rack."

Mark looked annoyed and upset but quirked a brow and in his driest voice asked.

"Does she have a nice rack?"

He held his blank expression when Roger replied.

"As a matter of fact, she does."

Mark ran his tongue over his teeth and looked expectantly at Roger.

"Well?"

"She lives downstairs, she dances at the Cat Scratch, she has really curly dark brown hair and the most gorgeous, inspiring eyes I've ever seen."

"What color are they?"

"Chocolate brown. So pretty. I could go on about them for days."

Roger got that dreamy look and Mark was instantly ashamed of his blue eyes.

Apparently, Roger detected what was wrong.

"Look, Mark.. don't be upset."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Roger silenced him by putting his finger to Mark's lips.

"I know what you're thinking but, Marky.. we said it was over before April—"He cleared his throat and continued. "Please don't be upset. Because I know you'll sit and be upset over this and hide in your room for days and ignore me and pretend I don't ex—Don't say anything. Please? Just.. let me be happy? Because I am right now. For the first time since April.. you know. So just.. let me go."

Everything Mark would have said to win him back was shot down in one fell swoop and he knew it was useless. He heaved a sigh, shaking his head and worrying at his lower lip. His gaze remained locked on the suddenly intriguing floor and his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose slightly.

Roger wrapped one hand around the back of Mark's neck and with the other fixed his glasses. Mark looked up at Roger, silently begging him to fall out of love with this beautiful, exotic Mimi and back into it with him—if he ever was in love. Roger looked first ashamed and then away.

A small kiss was delivered from Roger's lips to Mark's. It was short, chaste and apologetic. Mark's instincts kicked and he realized this might be the last chance he got and he wrapped both his arms around Roger's neck and caught his lips just as he was pulling away.

There was a moment of muffled protest from Roger, but it was silenced after a moment. In that moment, an unspoken conversation happened in which Mark begged Roger to if not stay, at least not go and Roger begged Mark to let him go but at the same time apologized for his decision. A few seconds later, Roger tasted something salty in his mouth and pulled back, holding his friend's face in his hands.

Mark was crying.

It was silent and lacked shame and ceased the moment Roger pulled back. All that was left were the streaks on his face. He knew Roger felt bad deep down.

With one deep breath, Mark composed himself and looked Roger in the eye.

"The true test of love is wanting the one you love to be happy no matter what." He looked pained, but continued, "Even if it's not with you. And I do love you. So I want you to be happy. No matter what. Even if it's not with me."

"Would you hate me if I asked you to meet her tonight?"

"I could never hate you."

Mark stood and rather gracefully made his way into his room. He sat at the windowsill and pressed his forehead to the cold glass of the window and looked outside. He cursed the happy couples walking below and each pretty girl that walked by. He cursed the appeal and the curves that they had and he lacked. The appeal and curves that had lured away the only two people he'd ever given his heart to. It was then, looking up at the clouds that hung the threat of snow quite literally over his head that Mark decided that he was better off alone than cursed to have his heart broken again and again because he became easily attached.

IIIII

I smile recalling this conversation. Not because Roger and Mimi eventually broke up, but because I realized that no matter how devastating something seems at the time it happens, in hindsight it seems insignificant because by the time you look at it in hindsight, things have righted themselves.


	9. 3 dead darts, 2 lesbians and a Frito

Disclaimer: Me no ownage of these characters.

Notes: Mmkay folks, here's the deal. I was sitting in math today and I was bored out of my skull when the thought of an incident began to gnaw at my brain. This plot bunny was formed a long time ago, but it was during fourth period today that it took shape.

Lots of crap in this chapter is Christie's.. but it was the combined effort of both our brilliant minds to make it all happen.

Also! All of you California RENTheads. If you haven't already talked to Christie about the meetup over Winter Hols, please write to either me or her if you want to come.

Writer's block teh suck! Sorry this took so very long to put out, but I just couldn't think. Please review, kids. I'll love you forever. 3

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I remember one night; things were going really well between Roger and me. We hadn't argued at all for almost a week and we actually had food at the house for once. Collins had spent about $45 of his paycheck on putting groceries in our cupboards. We had Mountain Dew for my late night caffeine fixes, Coke for Roger, coffee, Fritos, Top Ramen, and most importantly... Cap'n Crunch. Roger always used to joke that Cap'n Crunch was my one vice.

Anyway, we had been playing darts on our handy dandy magnetic dartboard and Roger was kicking my ass... as usual.

00000

Roger grabbed his three red darts and threw them one at a time at the dartboard in quick succession. As each one hit, his grin grew more and more wide. Mark looked at his friend through the lens of his camera and sighed.

"Zoom in on the dartboard with Roger's darts in near-bull's-eyes on it." He turned the camera on himself and sighed again. "My turn."

He turned the camera off and set it down, taking up his yellow darts instead as he shook his head. Roger pulled his magnetic darts off the board with a gloating grin.

"Are you ready to give up yet?"

"Yes," said Mark flatly.

"Too bad!" Roger gave an almost maniacal laugh.

"Come on, Roger! There's no way I can beat you and I'm getting cramps in my arm from trying to!"

"_Fine_." Roger sighed and brought his darts with him to the kitchen table. He hopped on top of it and began toying with them.

Mark smiled and took a seat in a chair beside Roger. With his elbow on the table and his cheek resting in his palm, Mark picked up one of his darts and pushed the magnetic end of it toward the magnetic end of another dart. When the second dart jumped back a few millimeters, Mark grinned and picked it up. For a good minute and a half he kept himself entertained by attempted to push the two positive poles of the magnets together as a highly amused Roger observed silently.

"Okay, enough." Roger grabbed the darts from his roommate.

Mark just grinned and pushed at one of Roger's darts with his remaining one. In an odd, cartoon-ish voice he 'walked' the yellow dart to a red one. "Roooger! You know you want to plaaay."

"Oh my God. You are_ not_ serious."

"Look! It's _me_, Roger!" His voice changed back into the voice of dart-Mark. "Roger! Play with me!"

Roger just stared and slowly arched an eyebrow. "And people tell me_ I_ need help."

Mark swatted at Roger's arm and stuck his tongue out. "Shut up! But you're right. I do need help."

"Yes you do." But he knew there was more to that sentence and waited for it.

"Help playing!"

"No!"

"Fine."

Mark took one of Roger's red darts from the pile. With one yellow and one red in either hand, Mark began moving them about the table as though they were dolls.

"I'm Roger. I'm broody and bitchy and play the guitar because guitar-players are hot. My girlfriend's a slut!"

"Mimi is _not_ a slut."

Mark fixed him with a questioning stare for a moment before continuing. The red dart bobbed in his hand as it 'spoke'.

"Music is cool. I love ABBA."

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Not!"

"Too!"

"Not, not, not!"

"Too times infinity!"

"Bastard!" Roger glared before he got an idea. With one swift movement, he snatched the yellow dart from Mark's other hand.

In his own version of a character voice, Roger spoke as 'Mark'.

"My name's Mark. I _love _my camera. I want to have its babies!"

"Aw, man, that's_ wrong_!"

"Roger is the sexiest man ever. I want his hot body."

Mark flushed, but stayed silent.

"But not as much as I want my camera!"

Mark picked up another yellow dart and it 'walked' up to 'Mark' and in an offensive and strident screeching voice said one, drawn out, give away word.

"Pookie!"

Both men burst into a fit of laughter fit for schoolgirls and Roger grabbed the last yellow one.

"Honeybear, go inside and stop cheating on me!"

"But Pookie!"

"Bitch, shut up!" 'Joanne' knocked into 'Maureen' and 'Maureen' shrieked. They laughed again.

"Joanne doesn't talk like that!"

"But it'd be funny if she did..."

Twenty minutes later they were somehow still deeply involved in their role play. The two remaining red darts had become Collins and Mimi. Mark orchestrated a bitch fight between 'Roger' and 'Maureen' which ended with 'Roger' throwing 'Maureen' over the side of the table and 'Joanne' jumping after her.

'Mark' and 'Mimi' had it out in a knock-down, drag-out fight complete with hair pulling and eye scratching.

Mark was the victor.

"Ha! Take that, bitch!"

'Maureen' and 'Joanne' ended up coming back, but moved away to 'Upstate' (the other side of the table). When they were finished, they had eaten half a bag of Fritos and 'Mark' had killed 'Mimi', the bag of Fritos had eaten 'Collins', 'Maureen' and 'Joanne' moved to Upstate New York away from the group after threatening to smack Roger with her penis.

"Boy, you best shut up before I dick slap your ass!"

Mark snorted.

"Bring it on, Joanne."

"It's already been brought, bitch!"

'Joanne' had chased 'Roger' all around the table and finally 'Mark' intervened by running around screaming "Run! She's got a lesbian death beam!" which was the most random thing Mark or Roger had ever heard. They later determined that a 'lesbian death beam' was Joanne's 'penis' and thought that sufficiently explained what they were trying to convey.

'Mark' and 'Roger' were left to themselves. When the dead 'Collins' reappeared in a handful of Fritos, they laid him down on the table. It happened that he was laid beside a lone curled Frito and they were apart from everything else on the table.

A sheet of water clouded Mark's eyes. He looked up at Roger and blinked. Roger frowned. Together they said, "Angel."

They decided that be the graveyard. They laid all of their fallen dart-friends beside each other with 'Mimi' and 'Collins' on either side of 'Angel'.

Roger looked down at the only red dart left. It was in his hands.

It was him.

He laid it down beside 'Mimi', still frowning.

All lined up in a row were the three dead darts and a Frito. All three darts were red. Neither Mark nor Roger said a word. Both noted the symbolism in their little role playing. Which ones had died, in what order—the fact that all of the red darts were representing those with AIDS.

Mark tentatively reached out to Roger, placed his hand gently over his friend's. Roger quickly recoiled and leapt to his feet. His eyes locked on the darts for a long while. The dead ones, the two separated from the group, and the lone one. The singular yellow one left alone; unable to die like the reds and unable to move on like the yellows. Caught between. Roger looked at Mark only once. He saw the tears on Mark's cheeks and with a feral growl, overturned the table and stormed into his room.

Mark watched him leave and then looked back at the table. That was the way it would be someday. They would all be gone except for him. He would always be alone.

He'd always known it somehow, but it didn't completely dawn on him until three dead darts, two lesbians and a Frito showed it to him.


End file.
